


Prompt 24 (Lennox 5)

by Yoselin



Series: L&L Tumblr Prompts [28]
Category: Love & Legends (Visual Novel)
Genre: AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-02 00:27:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16294838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yoselin/pseuds/Yoselin
Summary: Prompt: “L&L Prompt!! Since I loved the Chicago!Helena AU, what if MC from the retainers’ world was sent to Chicago by the WQ or smth and met the nice Chicago version of Lennox?? That would be trippy as hell.”





	Prompt 24 (Lennox 5)

They swarm all around us and batter against our defenses. Scores of people donning teals and whites pound against our forces. Their shouting echoes on the battlefield and their hands claw at our armor. They are stronger than we have given them credit for, religious zeal driving their actions, and they overwhelm us faster than we would like to admit.   
The Witch Queen’s army has two great advantages. One of them is the Generals. Like a cog in a machine, each of them serves a specific purpose within the Witch Queen’s army. They are invaluable to the war front whether she’d like to admit it or not. Besides them, the other advantage to the Witch Queen’s forces are the cultists.   
The cultists are better fighters than the soldiers. They never waver in faith, they act on whatever order they are given, and they are relentless even as they are cut down.   
The mass of cultists around us makes it hard to advance. Our army is locked fighting them while the rest of the Witch Queen’s forces are taking the time to regroup. The entire battle is locked in a stalemate as our soldiers are forced to defend themselves rather than fight.   
“They keep coming,” I have to shout to be overheard. The cultists are changing things, prayers no doubt, and the sound of their weapons are loud as they fight our men one on one.   
Iseul is closer to me, his teeth are grit, and he aims his bow at cultists. He picks off as many as he can, arrows flying faster than they should, and sweat beads his brow. The scar on his cheek looks darker as his skin pales with exhaustion. Like the rest of us, he is tired of fighting.   
“They have no care for themselves,” Iseul runs out of arrows and swears, “We will never win at this rate.”  
My shield is heavy in my hands. Soreness is beginning to set in now that my adrenaline runs dry. The battle is a stalemate threatening to end in defeat. Our armies came prepared to fight soldiers of the Witch Queen, but we never expected to find so many here.   
Lennox’s cult, once considered a mockery, is now proving itself to be powerful. We have greatly underestimated the power that beliefs have on people. It seems religion is more lethal than any weapon.   
“We have to retreat,” I state. I slam my shield into the back of a cult member’s head and watch them crumble. They are out like a light and one of the Dwarvish soldiers nods a thank you.   
I do not want to retreat, we have fought so hard to gain this much ground in the Dwarven realm, but we have to. At this rate, we will never win. We are outnumbered and tired. The Witch Queen has the upper hand.   
Reiner fights to my side. His crossbow fires fast and he manages to clear a path towards me. His armor has scuffs and scratches, his arms have fresh wounds, and he looks tired although he tries to fight it.   
“We cannot push forward,” he announces, “We will be picked off like ducks in a pond. They are trying to surround us.”  
I bite the inside of my cheek. ‘Trying’ is not the right word. The Witch Queen has surrounded us. Our soldiers are putting up a valiant fight, but the cultists are everywhere. Although injured and dying, they give it their all. The entire battle is a massacre waiting to happen.   
I feel cold all over, the snow crunches under my feet, and my arms shake at my side. A retreat is necessary if we want to survive.   
My shield lowers slowly. “How are there so many of them?”  
Lennox’s cult has always been a joke among the Generals and our forces, it barely reaches the double digits. Now, however, there are so many. Have people given up on the war? Have they decided to side with the Witch Queen in an attempt to preserve themselves?  
For some reason, that thought is colder than the icy air. I begin to signal with my hand for a retreat. Reiner’s voice calls it out, echoing through the battlefield, and the war-horn blares over head with the order.   
I have never liked to retreat from fighting, have always wanted to fight my battles until the end, but now I walk. The sounds of battle still and our soldiers scatter. They retreat as fast as possible, and the fight dissolves in seconds.   
My entire body screams with indignation. I want to return to the fight, to finish what we started, but I know we do not stand a chance at winning. The battle was lost the moment we underestimated our enemies.   
As we retreat, laughter emanates from the hills. The Dwarven mountains have been lost to our forces and the Witch Queen has hurried to claim them. She stands at the top of one, dark blue dress waving in the wind, and her laughter echoes against the mountain. Next to her, Lennox is laughing as well. His teal and white finery almost blends into the falling snow as he cackles in mockery. We must paint a hilarious picture with our retreat.   
My entire face pales, to be laughed at for retreating is humiliating, yet that is not on the forefront of my mind.   
More powerful than the embarrassment of a retreat, is the heartache of a memory. The laugh that follows me now and cruelly shames our loss is a far cry from the same carefree laugh that I knew as a child.

— — —

King Barzilai looks exhausted as he sits on a chair in the Dwarven inn. There are fresh gray hairs on his scalp and the lines of his face are stark. War has done a number on him and he looks as dead as our fallen troops left behind on the battlefield.   
“The Witch Queen’s forces grow by the day. Her cults rise faster than the sun. We need to start clearing them out,” Barzilai comments. He stares at the map of the Dwarven domain on the table. There are scribbles on the parchment where he had tried and failed to plan new battle strategies.   
Reiner rubs at his jaw. “Her cult is strong. Their religious zeal carries them through. How do we cut down so many?”  
I grind my teeth together, a terrible habit I have yet to break, and pretend to polish a scuff on my shield. The metal has seen better days and it begs for a cleaning.   
Saerys traces a finger down the map. His eyes are narrowed and his teeth are bared. Anything relating to Lennox gets under his skin and he makes his hatred known.   
“Our spies know the location of the churches. We can wipe them out quickly, weed them out. No cultists, no problem.”  
I exhale slowly. A tension headache is forming and I am in need of rest. Although I am not one for sleep, I yearn for it now. Sleep will at least wipe away the memories of laughter following me from the mountains-  
And of laughter chasing me through fields as a little girl.   
I stand up quickly, too quickly, and feel lightheaded. All eyes in the room fall on me. My mouth feels dry.   
“Destroying one church will only cause more to rise. You do not pull weeds from the stem, that will never work,” I place my hands on the map.   
“Then what should we do?” King Barzilai asks, he sounds tired and worn.   
It takes me a few moments to remember how to use my throat. “We cut it at the root. People cannot join a cult that does not exist.”  
Silence falls across the room. Understanding dawns on them. I wait for someone to object, wish for it, but there are none present that feel as conflicted as I do. No one here has a past with a General. None of them understand what it is like to be torn between two sides.   
Saerys squares his jaw in grim determination. “So your plan is...?”  
I look away from the meeting and out the window to the falling snow. How many times had we built snowmen together and collected snowflakes on our tongues as children?  
“Exactly what I said,” I raise my chin, “We have to kill General Arnold.”

— — —

Solaire waits for me at the foot of the stairs. She has overheard the meeting and her lips are thin. Concern shines in her gaze and she reaches out a hand for me. It is a silent question, a request for permission to ask me, and I grant it with a squeeze.   
Yes, she can ask me if I am okay. Yes, I will lie to her and tell her that I am.  
“Are you sure you want to go through with this plan?” Her voice is soft, hesitant, and she tries to read me as she looks at me.   
I evade her gaze and stare at the wooden stair rail. There are scratches there from long use and the wood is splintered in some areas. I run my fingers over the rail and am careful to avoid getting hurt.   
“I pledged my loyalty to Reiner long ago. I am a retainer and will obey my Lord’s orders. My loyalty is never in doubt.”  
“Your loyalty was never in question. What I worry for is you. You have a past,” Solaire lowers her voice at the last part. She is keenly aware of how many people could overhear our silent conversation. If someone were to put the pieces together, it would spell trouble for me.   
I bite my lip. “My past is lost to time. I am who I am now. I want this war resolved as quickly as possible. Today was a disaster and we lost a lot of men. If we end the cult, the Witch Queen will only have her soldiers to defend her. Her men are known to defect at the first sight of danger. Her defeat will not be hard then.”  
I move to walk past Solaire. She plants herself like a tee before me. There is still worry in her eyes and her jaw is locked tightly. She looks nervous, concerned, and I know that she is offering me a chance to talk.   
I do not wish to talk. Talking about this topic is never easy, and I would rather bury it the way I bury all of my other problems. I move past her and up the stairs. The steps creak under my weight.   
“Leave me, Solaire.” My voice sounds colder than I intended. I wince at the same time she does. Full of guilt, I soften my tone and look directly at her. “Please.”  
“But he was your friend. You are allowed to not want to kill him-“  
“Please,” I repeat. My fingernails dig into the wooden railing leaving half moon crescents.   
This time, Solaire does drop it. She bows her head and mumbles a goodnight. She disappears down the steps and is out of sight before I can reply anything else.   
I let out a breath I did not realize I was holding. My knuckles turn white against the railing.   
“That friend of mine is long gone.”

— — —

The second round of battle comes in the morning. Although our troops are far from rested, we press on. The war has lasted far too long already and we want a swift end.   
The snow crunches under us as we fight. My shield clangs against swords and pushes Witch Queen soldiers back. I cleave a path towards Reiner and August.   
They fight side by side, assisting each other, and guard my back. My eyes sweep over the perimeter of the fight. The Witch Queen is nowhere to be found and the other Generals are absent.   
“Where is he?” I whisper under my breath.   
I had volunteered to carry out my plan. My sword feels like lead in my hand.   
“Probably hiding back like a coward. He often makes his cultists fight his battles,” August replies drily. He pauses to catch his breath in a lull in the fight.   
Reiner meets my gaze. There is a spark of concern there, a hesitant question in his eyes, and he lowers his voice. “I can search for him.”  
I catch the implication of his statement. Reiner, asides from Solaire, is the only other person in the world that knows about my past with Lennox. He worries that I will not be able to go through with this.   
“No,” I make my voice sound firm, “I want to do this.”  
 _I have to do this._  
I don’t say the last part out loud, but I assume he senses it anyway because he nods. Jaw tight, he relents and does not offer to help again.   
I scan the perimeter as August and Reiner guard my six. The snow camouflages the whites and blues of the Witch Queen, so her forces are difficult to make out. I have to strain to see the mountain ranges.   
I do not see him anywhere. Ever good at hiding, Lennox knows how to avoid being spotted. I almost feel relieved that he did not show and therefore cannot be killed-  
But then fate decides to flip me off.   
A shadow speeds past the battle. A teal overcoat flutters in the wind and a figure disappears around a mountain. Lennox.   
My mouth is dry and my heart pounds in my ears. A pit forms in my stomach and I clench my fingers around the hilt of my sword.   
“I found him.”

— — —

As kids, Lennox was always good at hiding. Almost as if by divine blessing, he could always find a spot to hide or shield himself. Our games of hide-and-seek often ended with him being victorious.   
But, after so many years of playing together, I have learned to spot him.   
The snow does not hide my footsteps. He hears me approach and freezes. One of his hands goes to his coat looking for a blade and the other tenses into a fist at his side.   
“Oh for-“ He grits his teeth in irritation and spins around.   
Upon seeing me, his eyes grow colder. If I had expected recognition to shine in his amber gaze, I am left disappointed. There is no shift in his demeanor as he recognizes me.   
“You,” he comments drily. The blade of a knife hisses as it is pulled out of his overcoat.   
I clench my sword until the grooves on the hilt are engraved into my skin. “You.”  
We face each other off. This far from the battle, we are alone. The only sounds between us is our breaths. I look for an opening to attack and he does the same to me.   
“I should have known you would follow me. You and your false lord never know when to give up. Perhaps you should order another retreat,” Lennox narrows his eyes.   
“You and your false Queen never know when to give up either. Our soldiers are winning the battle. We will drive your forces out by sundown. Perhaps you should raise the white flag now so that Lord Reiner shows mercy.”  
I raise my sword just an inch and he raises his own knife in turn a fraction. It is almost like a mirror. We mimic each other’s movements and face off.   
“I have to kill you. You are like poison. Your words are like oil and you turn so many against Reiner by the day. Your cult needs to end,” I state.   
Lennox scoffs. “If I am poison, you are a disease. You and your crew threaten the rule of my Queen. She asked for all of your heads. I will not disobey a direct order.”  
I wince just slightly. To know that we are on opposing sides of the war is one thing, but to hear it plainly from his lips is another.   
Facing him off now, him in his teals and whites and me in my reds and golds, feels nightmarish. The boy I used to know, the boy that played with me in our village and promised to be friends with me forever, is gone. All that remains is the cold General from the opposing side of the war with more blood on his hands than what could fill a river.   
I shiver and the snow has nothing to do with it. My lungs forget how to breathe for half a second and I have to remind them. Adrenaline begins to burn in my veins.   
Without any more words, I lunge for him. My sword is raised over my head and poised to strike, but he evades me easily. His own blades are drawn and he parries my every attack. His tiny knives are somehow an even match for my long sword.   
I am so used to seeing Lennox run from the first signs of fight that I often forget he is a General. Despite his aversion to fighting in the front lines, he is trained in war. Magnus and the Witch Queen have turned him into a hardened soldier that evades my every attack and meets me with his own.   
What he lacks in strength, he makes up with in speed. He moves from place to place to attack me. His movements are quick, rapid, and I am reminded of a deadly dance. As kids, we had practiced how to dance together and had gotten good at it. We had danced thousands of times in our village’s celebration and had, had fun. He would spin me around and around in time to the beat before the song would end and we would drop to the floor in laughter.   
But this time there is no laughter. There is no warmth in him, nothing to signify that the boy in my memories is the man standing before me, there is only cold calculation.   
Our dance now is a deadly fight devoid of music. We will not be falling to the floor laughing at the end of it.   
At some point, I gain the upper hand. Lennox misses me with his knife and it is lost to the snow meters away. He is left with one lonely dagger and he sinks to the snow as I kick his legs under him.   
He falls into it and tenses. I raise my sword above my head to deliver the final blow. This is what I came here for. I have to complete my mission. Reiner expects it of me.   
Suddenly, Lennox is pale. He raises his hands above his head to shield himself and he screams.   
“No! Spring!”  
My hand stills. I suck in a pained breath.   
_Spring._  
Spring was his nickname for me. He called me Spring because we met in spring. He called me Spring because we played in spring. He called me Spring because I liked to jump on his back like a spring when we were young. He is the only one that uses that nickname.   
My hand begins to shake, my heart pounds, and my eyes sting. Suddenly, the finishing blow seems impossible to deliver. I falter.   
Lennox is looking at me, fear dancing in his eyes, and he whispers the nickname again under his breath. He raises his hand towards me. I am reminded of the way he once raised his hand to me when we were little and we swore to be friends forever-  
But this time, the hand he raises has a knife. The blade glints in the sun. He swipes for my neck.   
The blade nicks my collar and blood trickles down. I manage to move out of the way so that it is nothing more than a scratch. Still, the pain stings-  
And the betrayal hurts even more.   
Lennox glares at me with hatred. He played me like a fiddle. Using my nickname was nothing more than a ploy to defend himself.   
The thought gives me the courage I need. I clench my jaw and scream. Moving faster than I’ve ever moved before, I plunge my blade forward.   
This time, he can’t use Spring as a shield. This time, he has no time to object.   
The blade pierces his heart and he freezes. His hands go for his wound. Blood seeps through his clothes and lands on the white snow staining it red.   
Lennox has so much blood on his hands figuratively-but now literarily too. His gloves are stained with it. He crumples to his knees and the snow between us turns scarlet. His eyes meet mine and I see cold rage burn there before it’s gone. Like a candle snuffing out, the light in his gaze disappears.  
In moments, he is gone.   
I shiver with the realization of what I have done. My breath comes out uneven.   
I once swore to Lennox that we would be friends forever, but I also once promised Reiner that I would serve him loyally as his Retainer. Only one of these promises can be fulfilled, and I have just made my choice as to which one I will keep. 

— — —

The pints of ale are brought out for the victory. The Dwarves have retaken the mountains and the Witch Queen has been pushed away with one General less. It is much cause for celebration among the Dwarven lands.   
I stare at the bottom of my mug and make a face. The alcohol does not help ease the lump in my throat. I clench and unclench my fingers over the handle.   
King Barzilai is plotting the next phase of the war with Reiner over a pint of ale. War never rests and neither do they. Even amidst a party, they continue to strategize.   
I swirl my pint around and watch the alcohol lap at its sides. After a while, I grow bored and set it down. My mind is restless and I just want to pace.   
“The Witch Queen lost a General today. She will be forced to reconvene back at her castle for the next few days. The Dwarven domain is safe for some time,” Barzilai comments.   
Reiner nods. He meets my gaze over the war map and drums his fingers on the parchment.   
“You should rest,” he lowers his voice, “You need it.”  
I wince but suppress it. At this point, I hate the sympathy I’ve been getting. While the world around me congratulates me and asks me for the story of how I defeated a General on my own, Solaire and Reiner have been insufferable with their pity. They know the full story of my past and I hate them for it.   
“I am fine,” I wave his concerns away.   
King Barzilai eyes me but accepts my words at face value. He turns to Reiner and rubs at his jaw in thought.   
“With no cult, the Witch Queen is weak. Perhaps we could end this war before winter’s snow melts. This entire thing can end by spring.”  
 _Spring._  
The pint of ale in my hands crashes to the floor. I feel nauseous and mumble an apology before spinning away. I do not help clean up my mess and am aware of the stares on my back. I ignore them and hurry up to my room where I can gather my thoughts in peace.   
I lied to Reiner. I am not fine. 

— — —

“Do you blame yourself?” Solaire’s voice is soft under her breath. She is pressed against my back as we sit on the porch of the Dwarven inn. Around us are caves and crystals that cast colorful shadows over our faces.   
My back is pressed to hers and I try to catch the shimmering light of the reflection of the crystals in my hands.   
“Blame myself for what he became? No. He chose to join that side.”  
I grind my teeth again. One day, I should really stop the habit.   
Solaire is quiet. “Do you mourn him then? It is okay to miss him.”  
It is my turn to be quiet now. I stare at my hands, the same hands that once took his life, and shiver.   
I do. I mourn him every day. I mourn the boy that promised to be friends for life before I took his life, I miss the man he was before the Witch Queen, and I miss the man he could have been had he not joined her.   
I miss the Lennox that I knew and loved. And, sometimes, as I lay in bed at night replaying our last confrontation in my head, I miss the cold General that turned the snow scarlet. That General had no one to miss him, so I mourn him too.   
“I do,” I admit. My voice sounds as pained as I feel.   
Solaire reaches behind her and squeezes my hand. “It is okay to miss your friend.”  
I squeeze her fingers back and look away from her. My jaw locks and my eyes begin to sting.  
I do not tell her the truth. I do not tell her that I miss more than just the Lennox that was my friend. I do not tell her that, some nights, I cannot tell my childhood friend and the cult leader apart. I do not tell her that, some nights, I lay in bed at night and mourn them both equally.   
Some nights, I mourn the friend I missed all while mourning the General that had no one to miss him. 

— — — 

Reiner sits himself down next to me one night during dinner. He lowers his voice so that only I can hear and bows his head.   
“They took Lennox’s body and buried him near a mountain range. The Witch Queen abandoned it and King Barzilai did not want him buried with our men. I put a grave marker by it, a stone with his name on it. I believe that, even a man like him, deserves a proper burial.”  
My fingers tighten on the wineglass in my hand. I blink up at Reiner and lock my jaw.   
“Are you sure he deserved it?”  
I hurt myself with my own words. My heart gives a painful lurch in my chest. Of course he deserved a grave marker. If not him, then at least the boy that he once was deserved one.   
Reiner licks his lips and downcasts his eyes. When he places his hand on my shoulder, he sounds somber.   
“You do not have to hate him,” he whispers.   
“I do,” I counter. I cannot tell whether I am lying or not.   
“Do you regret it? Regret killing him?” Reiner asks. He sounds worried as he says it, concerned for my wellbeing, and he squeezes my shoulder reassuringly.   
I look down at my wine. It is a blood red. For a brief moment, I am reminded of scarlet snow and the way Lennox had framed a portrait on the ground with his blood-  
I blink the image away. My lips thin and I stare past Reiner and out the window. The snow is still falling in tiny clumps.   
“I do not regret it,” I admit, “but I do lament it.”  
I look down at my hands again, the same hands that killed him, and squeeze my fists. My heart pounds in my chest.   
Lamenting something is not the same as regretting it. 

— — —

The human domain requires our assistance. Reiner has dispatched us early. I walk alongside Altea and Iseul. The path we walk is dangerous and we are told to stick close to one another.   
At some point, I grow tired. My mouth feels dry and I shake my water canteen. It is empty and a pitiful drop falls at my feet.   
“Perhaps we should stop,” Altea states. She has noticed my plight and some sweat also shines on her forehead. She is as tired as I am.   
We have been walking for a long time, we all need rest. The human domain is hours away and we are too tired to travel for now. We will need to stop at the Falke Inn on the way.   
“I need water. Is there a stream nearby?” I ask.   
Iseul closes his eyes and extends his hand. He reads the nature around us, asks the woodland creatures, then opens his eyes.   
He points to a path of trees behind me. “Walk a few minutes that direction. A stream runs down there. Would you like me to walk with you?”  
I stare at the trees he pointed to. It will not be a far walk. I need the time alone.   
“No. Stay here.”  
I take off my sword and armor, tired of wearing it all day, and hand them to Altea. She takes it silently and works on creating a bubble for herself where she can sit. Iseul lounges against a tree and proceeds to nap.   
I turn around and head for the stream. 

— — —

I see her reflection in the water as I gather it. She wears a dark blue dress and her dark hair is straight against her face. Her flesh is a bloodless white and her lips are painted blue. She is the embodiment of cold winter and frigid hate.   
“So you are the one that killed my General,” she comments.   
I tense and spin around. The water canteen in my hand falls and water splashes at my feet. I ignore it and freeze in place.   
The Witch Queen stands before me. She has seemingly materialized out of thin air. The atmosphere crackles with her magic and the hairs on the back of my neck stand.   
“Witch Queen,” I hiss. I go for my sword then remember I left it with Altea. I am entirely unprotected.   
A scowl twists her features and fury blazes in her eyes. She presses her blue lips thin and her fist clenches.   
“Do you have any idea how hard it will be to replace him? Lennox was not good for much, but he could run my church. It will be almost impossible to find someone else,” she edges towards me, “You have caused me a lot of trouble.”  
I grind my teeth together.   
Lennox is dead, but she does not care. For some reason, that makes my stomach twist. I guess I wanted someone else to mourn him, so that the burden would not fall solely on me.   
To her, he was nothing more than a tool to be used for war. To me, he was so much more.   
“Are you going to kill me?”   
I am surprised by how even my voice is. My heart is threatening to burst out of my chest, yet I sound confident.   
The Witch Queen narrows her eyes. “A tempting proposition but no. Now that I am short one General, I need another toy. You will do something for me.”  
“Like Hell, you bitch,” I hiss.   
“Watch your mouth,” she warns, “Now, here is what you will do. I need a guinea pig to test a portal out for me. I would have sent Lennox but that is impossible now. You will take his place.”  
She edges closer. I edge back. Pretty soon, my foot sloshes against the stream’s water. I cannot move further back. She has me cornered.   
“What portal?” I shiver.   
“A new world, my dear,” she replies, “You get to be the first one there. You will be sent there in exile. If you survive, I know it is safe to travel there. If you do not, I know that it is not. Either way, you will go.”  
She raises her hand and dark magic coils at her fingertips. It swirls around her hand and the air begins to crack with energy. The hairs at the back of my neck are ramrod straight now.   
“Are you going to invade it?” I try to stall.   
The smirk she gives me is reply enough. She wants to extend her war into another world.   
The portal appears between us. I see a strange world peeking out. Foreign sounds and sights greet me.   
Fear gnaws at me but I have no time to dwell. The portal bends and I am dragged towards it. Fighting it is futile, it drags me forward.   
The Witch Queen cackles as I am swallowed up. I have no time to scream or think about anything as I plunge forward into a strange, new land. 

— — —

A hand roughly yanks me forward and out of the road. A metal carriage speeds past honking as I am dragged into the sidewalk. I have almost been run over in my first few seconds here.   
I turn around and am face to face with a woman that looks like Solaire. She wears a blouse instead of her dress and does not appear to recognize me.   
“Are you alright? That cab almost ran you over. Rush hour is not safe, girl,” she dusts off my clothing.   
“Where-?”  
I look around myself but recognize nothing. I am in the new world. The entire place seems bizarre and unusual. Fear creeps in and I blanche.   
The woman finishes dusting me off and raises an eyebrow. “You okay? Are you in shock? Should I call a doctor?”  
I open my mouth but no words come out. The inside of my mouth feels like sandpaper. I have to swallow several times before I can talk again.   
“Where am I?”   
The woman’s eyes widen. She tilts her head, “Chicago?”  
She trails out the last syllable as if that will help jog my memory. I have never heard of a land like this. More panic sets in.   
The woman presses her lips thin. For the first time, she takes in my clothing. I wear a gold and red dress that signifies me a Retainer of Reiner. It is a far cry from her unusual clothing and pants.   
She must realize this because she sweeps her gaze over me. Slowly, doubt pools in her gaze. She grits her teeth.   
“That’s not a cosplay outfit, is it,” she realizes. Letting out a shrill whistle, she takes my hand. “What happened to you?”  
I register her words and blink. Would she believe me?   
“You...you would never believe me,” I whisper.   
I am not sure I believe it myself. One moment, I was before the Witch Queen. Then the next moment, I am in a new world so unfamiliar and bizarre. The entire thing is giving me whiplash.   
The woman sighs. “You’d be surprised.”

— — —

Her name is Sophie. She introduces herself over lunch and listens to my story. I recount everything to the smallest detail. Hearing it helps me understand what happened too.   
Finally, when I am done, I close my mouth and wait for her reaction.   
She lets out another shrill whistle and runs her hand through her hair. “You’re right. Your story is crazy.”  
I wince and bite my lip. “I am not lying.”  
“No, I know you’re not,” Sophie clenches her jaw, “Your story is too crazy to be false. I mean, some evil queen sending you here? Fighting a fantasy war? It’s all outlandish. I have half a mind to call the police and have you institutionalized.”  
I wince again and tense. I am ready to run at a moment’s notice if she decides to flip on me-  
But she does not. Instead, Sophie shakes her head.   
“But I won’t. I believe you-as crazy as that sounds. You can’t make something like that up. It’s too weird,” she murmurs.   
“So you believe me?” I wonder.   
Sophie nods. She looks almost pained with herself as she does so. She stares down at her empty plate and uses her fingers to collect crumbs.   
“I have to. No one makes something that outlandish up...”  
She drifts off and bites her lip. I stare down at my hands.   
My story is insane, I would not believe myself, but I am glad she is more open minded. I do not know what I would do if I had no one in this world. Sophie may not be Solaire, but I take comfort in her presence all the same.   
“Do you have a place to stay?” Sophie blurts out. I shake my head. She purses her lips. “Well, my apartment is nearby. I don’t usually get guests, but you don’t look like a serial killer so...”  
She stands up and extends a hand to me. I take it hesitantly, nervous. “Are you sure? The Witch Queen wants to invade this world. If she finds me with you, you will be in danger.”  
Sophie rolls her eyes. “This is Chicago, I’d love to see her try to beat rush hour traffic. You need a place to stay, and I have a place. Come on.”  
She nods at the door. I stand and dust my hands off on my outfit. I do not know this world, it is foreign to me, but I am grateful to have someone to look out for me. I owe Sophie more than what I could ever say. 

— — —

A few weeks pass in Chicago. Time ticks slowly here and I am forced to learn this bizarre world’s customs. They operate with something called electricity, something akin to magic, and I slowly learn how to adapt.   
Sophie proves an invaluable friend. With a small loan on her end, I rent an apartment to live on my own. In just a few weeks, I also find a small minimum-wage job that helps pay for some things. Life moves on.   
Sophie and I walk through the streets of Chicago. My hands are in my pockets and I stare at the cracks in the cement. Counting them gives me something else to think about.   
I had another nightmare last night. I dreamt of scarlet snow and bloodied blades. I dreamt of Lennox, but this time it was the little boy that lay dead on the ground and not the unfortunate adult he had become.   
Sophie had offered a walk to help clear my head. She knows my past and pities me. War is ugly and she reminds me that I did what I had to do. A pity I never believe her.   
“There’s a cafe nearby. We can grab some coffee, yeah?” Sophie tilts her head.   
I have no idea what that is so I just shrug mutely.   
We walk the length of the Chicago streets. My eyes skim the buildings around us. There are different shops of varying colors and designs. I count them as we go, something to do asides from thinking, and bite my lip.   
Every shop around us is colorful in its own way and full of extravagance. The stores all beg to be entered, they want money spent in them, and they all look superficial-  
Except for one building at the very end of the line. It is not a shop but a church. It is dark brown, demure, and there is no extravagance in sight. A sign depicts its name and there is a cross made of iron built over that.   
“What religion is that? What gods?” I tap Sophie’s shoulder.   
Sophie glances at it and shrugs. “There’s a lot of different ones in this world. Do you want to go in? I never pegged you for the religious type.”  
I am not. In my world, the only time the word “gods” spilled from my lips was when my lovers drew it out in bed. I have never held much interest in churches, yet this one beckons me.   
Perhaps it is because my best friend is dead and I want to believe his soul is somewhere else. The Lennox that died was wicked and did not deserve a nice afterlife, but the little boy that died with him deserved everything. I mourn them both and perhaps prayer will help soothe some of the pain in me.   
“I want to go in. You do not have to,” I bite my lip, “I will meet you outside?”  
Sophie shrugs and points at a random cafe for us to meet after I am finished. She disappears into the swarm of people walking past. I enter the church slowly. 

— — —

The church is almost empty when I enter. Mass has long since ended and now its doors are open for prayer. Few others are inside kneeling on pews.   
I take a seat at the very back and kneel as well. I have no idea what religion this belongs to or how to pray to their deity, but I kneel and clasp my hands before my chest.   
I think about the little boy I lost. The one that called me Spring and played with me every day. I think about how we danced together before descending into laughter, how we stayed up late telling stories of the many adventures we would have together as adults, how we swore to be best friends forever and never be apart-  
Then I think about the man he had become. The man that had betrayed everything he once was to join the Witch Queen. The man that had become twisted and had hurt so many people. The man that manipulated the minds of his cultists and made them sacrifice themselves. The man that used my love for the little boy he once was against me during our last confrontation. The man that turned the snow red with his blood and hated me until the very breath left his lungs-  
One tear falls and then another. I have not cried in a long time, and I try to suppress it. My hand presses into my mouth to muffle my sobs and my forehead digs into the wooden row before me.   
I have to remember how to breathe. My head pounds against my skull.   
Suddenly, a hand is placed on my back. I feel a presence next to me and the pew shifts with someone else’s weight. A soft voice sounds in my ears. “Ma’am? Are you alright?”  
I open my eyes and my heart stops.   
He is not dressed in the teal and white finery that he wore everyday back then. Instead, he wears black, simple clothing and a white bar peeks over his collar. The hatred is gone from his amber eyes and kindness radiates off of him.   
My breath hitches. Of course. If this world has Solaire in the form of Sophie, then why can it not have Lennox too?  
The man before me, the man identical to the one I cry for, extends a hand. “You are crying. Are you alright?”  
I squeeze my fists together. He does not recognize me. Whoever this is, this is not my childhood best friend.   
I make my mouth work and bow my head. “I am sorry.”  
I move to stand, I need to get away from this church and this doppelgänger, but a hand catches mine softly.   
The man identical to Lennox quickly shakes his head. “You don’t have to leave. Everyone is welcome here.”  
I let him move me back down so that I am kneeling. I am tense everywhere from his touch and he lets go. I almost do not want him to. Him touching me means that he is here, alive, and that is more comforting than anything else.   
“Did you lose someone?” The man asks.   
I suck in a breath. _I lost you._  
“I did. A friend of mine,” I murmur. I do not elaborate more, but he does not pry. Instead, he gives me a sympathetic look.   
“Loss is difficult to deal with. Prayer, in my experience, helps the healing process. Do you pray?”  
I feel almost embarrassed to admit that I do not. Nevertheless, the pastor does not judge me. There is no judgement as he looks over me.  
“Would you like me to lead you in one then?” He offers his hand.   
It is the same way he offered me his hand as children when we promised to remain friends forever. My heart thumps loudly in my chest, but I give it to him anyway.   
Our hands fit perfectly together. His hands are warm and soft. There are no scars over them or rough skin, nothing to certify that this man once fought a war and killed so many people. There is nothing but kindness in him, peace, and that means more than what I can express.   
I do not pay attention to the prayer he says. Instead, I focus on the sound of his voice. He is fervent and passionate when he prays, a true believer to the end, and I take solace in the same voice my friend had as a boy.   
In a way, it is almost ironic. The Lennox that I knew led a cult in order to serve an evil queen. This Lennox, however, prays with his entire heart and presides over a church that is open to all.   
When he is done praying, I have to admit that I do feel better. Just a few moments in his company help ease some of the pain in me. I almost want to stay.   
“I’ve never seen you in this church before. What is your name?” He asks me.   
Slowly, I tell him my name.   
For a moment, there is a spark of something in his eyes. A flash of recognition shines there briefly, something about my name igniting a memory, but then it is gone. He blinks slowly and can no longer remember whatever memory he had just had.   
“That sounds familiar. Do you-Do I know you?” He asks.   
No. Yes. I do not know what to say. How do you tell someone you are their childhood best friend from another world? How do you tell them that you are the reason they are dead?  
I shake my head. “I do not know you.”  
It is not a lie, not technically, I do not know this Lennox.   
The man takes my words as truth. He extends a hand and helps me stand from my kneeling position. His smile is bright, inviting, and I feel my heart race.   
“Well, it is nice to meet you. My name is Lennan,” he introduces himself.   
I archive that name in my head. He and I walk towards the door to the church. It is open and the Chicago streets greet us.   
I do not want to leave. This may not be the Lennox I left behind, but he is everything I wish the little boy had grown into. His presence is comforting and the air between us is charged somehow, full of energy, and I wonder if he feels it too.   
“I should go,” I reply. I do not want to, but Sophie waits for me at a cafe. I should not keep her long.   
He is still holding my hand in his. Slowly, as if he did not want to, he lets it go. “Of course.”  
I move to descend the steps, but my steps are sluggish and slow. I do not want to leave, not yet.   
I make it two steps down before Lennan calls my name.   
“Wait,” he pauses to collect his thoughts and a small tint of red is on his face. “There is a coffee place nearby. I think you’d like it. Do you want to get a drink with me?”  
He extends his hand towards me. My breath hitches.   
This is not the little boy I lost, he is a different man, yet he acts like him. Lennan is everything I wish Lennox had been. His hand is offered to me the same way he gave it to me when we promised to be friends for life.   
Like all those years ago, I take it. Our skin sparks with the contact and I know our connection is not just in my head. By the hitch of his breath and the way the tips of his ears redden, I know Lennan feels it too.   
“I would like that,” I admit. My voice sounds strangely at peace. Perhaps he has that effect on me.   
His answering smile is soft, bright, and he leads me away from the church and into the streets. He begins to talk about the place he is taking me to and I stare in his wake.   
He is not the Lennox that lay amidst scarlet snow and hated me until he died. Instead, he is everything the little boy deserved to be when he grew older.   
He is a better version, a second chance, and I thank fate for helping us meet. Perhaps in this world, our stories will be much more pleasant.   
Perhaps in this world, we are meant to be.


End file.
